


lines, dots, triangles

by bluescat



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fuckbuddies To Lovers, Galahdian Culture (Final Fantasy XV), M/M, Mutual Pining, Nyx Ulric-centric, Secret Relationship, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26713816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluescat/pseuds/bluescat
Summary: "I think I’m going to do something stupid,” Nyx announces to his friends, fingers rubbing against the particular tattooed spot on his neck absent-mindedly. It’s entirely instinctive, reaching for it and letting the memories related to it come forth in his mind.There’s a pair of small but surprisingly strong hands coming down to slam on the table then, pulling him out of his thought all at once.„Oh, finally! Just please, hurry up.”Nyx can’t decide whether he’s blessed or cursed to have friends who so readily and eagerly encourage his recklessness.*Written for NyxNoctWeek2020, Day 4: traditions/Galahd.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Nyx Ulric
Comments: 11
Kudos: 59
Collections: NyxNoct Week 2020





	lines, dots, triangles

Feeling the overwhelmingly enticing wave of warmth, Nyx takes a step forward on the smooth tiles and allows the jet of water to hit his body. It takes him a moment to get over the fact that the shower is actually big enough for him to even _have to_ take that step, just how getting used to the idea that the water pressure is strong enough to soak every inch of his skin nearly instantly – but then he finally exhales deeply and relaxes, the tension slowly but surely melting off his muscles. Amongst many other things, he’ll surely miss these simple luxuries that his own tiny, one-room apartment does not have, thinking fondly to the weekend full of lazy entertainment, brilliant sex and extravagances he doesn’t get to experience on a daily basis.

Running fingers through the length of his wet hair, the hum of water creating a barrier between him and the rest of the world, he barely registers the sound of the bathroom’s door opening. It’s only when another figure appears a few moments later at the very edge of his periphery that he notices not being alone anymore, electric blue eyes watching him like a wild coeurl that’s analyzing the movement patterns of his future prey.

Nyx shifts just the tiniest bit, enough to escape the flow of water obstructing his vision, and raises his eyebrows in a silent question that, he has to admit, may have also been a bit of a challenge. To what – that’s just for the other to decide, and judging by the nimble fingers reaching towards the hem of his comfortable looking, cotton shirt, they have pretty much the same idea of the kind of dares the two of them may get involved in.

He makes a bit of a show out of undressing the very few clothes he has on – Nyx can tell, because he’s seen him getting rid of them enough times to recognize when it’s casual, urgent or straight-out teasing; and right now it’s definitely the latter. The shirt goes unnecessarily slowly, dragging across the pale skin to reveal abdomen that Nyx just knows is even warmer than the shower, then the toned midsection, nipples the color of his blush when he sat on the Glaive’s face just the other night, until finally it ruffles the already messy mop of black hair, soft strands flopping back on his forehead as the fabric hits the floor. There’s much less preamble with the neat, black boxer briefs, the very well recognized hastiness finding its way into the movements and causing Nyx’s lip to curl in a half smile.

The cold gust of air as the cabin’s glass door slide open for the briefest of moments, causing him to break out in goosebumps that feel like hundreds of needles piercing his skin, is being well recompensed for by the Prince’s lean body crowding him against the shower’s wall just a few seconds later.

There are many things that they could say to each other: teasing quips, flirty jokes or heated, borderline dirty words that make both of their hearts and minds race each and every time they’re spoken. But somehow, as the eyes and hands alike start to wander, exploring and acting as if they’ve managed to start feeling longing sometime between now and fifteen minutes ago, no words are needed for the time being.

It happens quite often, Nyx thinks to himself, hands falling easily on bare hips as Noctis presses into him easily, comfortably. They’ve had this thing going on for quite a few months now, a rather playful relationship that – aside from the fact that it involves a future King – feels casual for most of the part; except for moments like these. When nothing seems enough to satisfy the _need_ , the desire, the want, when all they have to do is let go and let their instincts guide their bodies, words and thoughts forgotten. It’s strange and nothing like any of Nyx’s casual relationships and hook ups before – but then again, he’s never hooked up with royalty whom he had sworn to serve and be loyal to, so he figures that’s where the magic is. The thrill of being not only with someone so much younger, but also someone holding a position that makes the entire thing borderline immoral and, in some aspects, probably also illegal. He can only guess how much that riles up someone like Noctis too, the sheltered little Prince who, arguably, hasn’t had many chances to rebel in his life.

When Noctis presses lips to the front-side of Nyx’s neck, he doesn’t need to guess what he’s aiming at, the following feeling of a tip of the tongue tracing a straight line upwards only proving him right. It’s been long and frequent enough for Nyx to recognize this strange but not unwelcome obsession with his tattoos, having them hypnotized by Noctis’ eyes as often as by his hands or mouth. When a gentle bite comes right where the two lines meet and cross just below his ear, Nyx lets out a groan and presses his fingers harder in the soft flesh of the Prince’s hips.

"Missed me already?” The Glaive asks finally, head tilting forward and eyes looking for that of Noctis, hidden somewhere behind the wet black hair sticking to his face in ways that honestly shouldn’t be this attractive _or_ endearing.

Noctis lets go of Nyx’s neck, leaving that one particular spot red, as he looks back at him. "You were taking too long. Decided to come and get my fill while I still can.”

It’s heated and more than suggestive, Noctis’ cock rubbing insistently against Nyx’s thigh with a single sway of his hips, working through the grip he has on them. It makes Noctis shudder, the ragged breath that escapes his lips unmistakable on Nyx’s skin.

"How objectifying. What am I, a vending machine?” Nyx scoffs, but without any real offense, as he slides his hands to Noctis’ backside, squeezing and pulling him even closer.

"Your dick may as well be,” he grins in that boyish manner of his, the glint in his eyes making Nyx give in even before the wish is spoken. "Now subject to your majesty and _provide_.”

And so Nyx does.

*

Going back to his regular duties after a weekend that was both relaxing _and_ exhausting, but undeniably and wholeheartedly (or _wholedickedly,_ depending on how one looks at it) satisfying, proves itself to be harder than Nyx may have expected. Not only does he feel physically tired, he’s also way too distracted to pay attention to the things he’s supposed to be doing, things he’s usually _good at_ , making him seem like either an uncaring asshole or an insolent slacker – neither of the things he is or wants to be.

When he fucks up for the third time in a row, recklessly endangering not only himself but his partner too, that’s when the line has been drawn. And while all he hears is "just take the day off, you’re fine”, what he actually feels it means is: you’re a failure, go sort yourself out and come back when it’s done. It’s not true, of course – not likely, but although he’s mostly aware of it, there’s just some part of him that believes he should always be held to the highest standards of the perfect hero that he’s seen as. To compensate for all and any of his past downfalls. To repay the skies above that have witnessed them.

"What’s up with you today, man?” Libertus asks him a few hours later, squeezing on the way too small bench by the way too small table, crammed in the very corner of a tiny bar in the area where all refugees of Insomnia live. Pale ale splashes over the glass pitchers’ edges as he sets them down a bit too vigorously. "First you’re late, then you get kicked out of the training and now you look like you just found out that they bombed our bar all over again.”

Nyx raises his gaze at Libertus at that, and his eyes must be pained enough to effectively shut him up at least for the duration of the first three gulps of the alcohol. _Gods,_ he needed that.

"I’m just tired,” he gives in eventually, mostly because he feels it’s unfair to first force Libertus to hang out with him when he’s in this dog shit mood and then leave him hanging in that weird, tense silence.

"Yeah, bullshit,” the Glaive scoffs, leaning back in his seat. "When you’re tired, you complain and make sure everybody around knows all about it, maybe coerce them into pity-favors while you’re at it. This is—something different.”

Nyx runs a hand over his face, a clear sign of frustration.

"I’ve been at Noctis’ place on the weekend,” he admits quietly, both because he’d rather it not become public knowledge and because he’s not entirely sure he wants to talk about it at all. _Especially_ when he sees the smug smile on his friend’s face.

"Ah, so that’s where you disappeared to; we’ve been wondering,” and Nyx wants to ask who’s _we,_ because he’s rather certain he shared the news about his royal affair only with Libertus, but he can kind of guess anyway, so there’s no point in any inquiry anyway. "How long has it been going on for, anyway? Nine—no, ten months? Quite a lengthy fling, if you ask me.”

"Eleven,” he murmurs, sounding half-unamused and half-surprised at this sudden discovery that apparently, despite not really counting on a daily basis, his subconscious has been more than aware of.

"Eleven! Any plans on making this official? Or—as official as a romance between a still teenage Prince and a Kingsglaive refugee twelve years his age can be, that is.”

Nyx makes a face at that, not sure which part of Libertus’ statement is more terrifyingly scandalous.

"Libs, we’re just fucking.”

"Listen—Nyx, my guy,” just seeing the way Libertus inhales, he already knows there’s a long monologue incoming – one that he probably would rather not hear, for the comfort of his own mind. "I’ve known you since you were a child, which means we’ve gone through our best and worst years together. Been there for your first girlfriend, first boyfriend, all the hookups and relationships. None of them came even close to lasting _eleven months,_ or being as risky as maintaining a relationship with the son of our nation’s King. I refuse to believe that doesn’t mean anything to you—you have the heart of a trusting puppy, we both know that,” and there’s a very real desire in Nyx to vehemently negate this particular statement, but he doesn’t really get a chance to. "I mean, how good sex needs to be to stay holed up for three days straight in one place with someone you’re _just_ _fucking_?”

And that’s it, that’s the thing he sure did not want or need to hear, messing with his head more than it’s already been messed up. Because some part of him already _knew,_ that it all has gone a tiny bit too far for him to stay casual – but the other, more reasonable and responsible one kept the intrusive feelings at bay, looking out for the both of them with the consideration of the big picture, not just the selfish reasons of Nyx’s unruly heart.

"It’s a _really_ good fucking sex, Libs.”

*

The next few days feel like a very long, emotional hangover. The mixture of still getting off the weekend’s high, Libertus’ words and his own feelings have him disassociate from majority of his daily tasks, suspended somewhere in the space between his own mind and the reality. This in turn makes him annoyed with himself, not used to being affected by something— _someone_ —in such ways, resulting in a whole lot of negative frustration and a persistently grumpy mood.

"I’d say it’s kinda cute, if it wasn’t so painful to be around you now,” Crowe says one day, after spending who knows how long just sitting there, opposite of Nyx, and watching his ghost-like disposition.

He doesn’t comment back, just because he kind of agrees with her sentiment.

"Honestly, it’s embarrassing. How old are you, fifteen?” She goes on, and the fact that Nyx has no energy to stop her speaks for itself. "Just text him and meet up, I want my friend back. Libs could use his sparring partner back too, he’s gonna get out of shape because of you,” Libertus doesn’t have the same issues with retaliation, which earns Crowe a less than gentle nudge in the side.

"He’s the _Prince of Lucis_ , it’s not like he can just dip out of whatever princely duties he has and go on secret dates in the middle of the week,” he says in a slightly bored manner, but the discreet chill running down his back is unmistakable. Alright, so maybe the whole thrill of secrecy excites him after all; _so what._ He’s just a human. "Besides, Scientia follows him everywhere like a shadow. Weekends seem to be the only time he’s not constantly around.”

"See, I don’t know much about our Prince, or Princes in general, but I too used to be a teenager once—not _that_ long ago, actually,” both him and Libertus can hear the unspoken jab at their old age, but decide to not give her the satisfaction and ignore it. "And what I _do_ know for sure, is that teenagers will very rarely say no to rebelling and sneaking out from under the eye of their caretakers.”

Nyx hates the fact that, thinking back to twelve or so years ago, his memories prove her right within no longer than ten seconds.

"Text him.”

*

[22:14PM] how busy are typically prince’s thursday evenings?

[22:17PM] extremely so

[22:18PM] (photo attached)

Nyx can’t be sure whether the decision has been made already before or after seeing the photo. It’s both delightfully (and painfully, in a way) casual _and_ enticingly intimate, Noctis hanging out in a bed that is all too familiar to Nyx at this point, half-buried in his fluffy, white sheets, looking like he had been drifting off just before receiving the text message. All he knows is that approximately half an hour later, they’re grabbing onto each other’s clothes like they’re starved for the warmth hiding underneath them, pressed together so impossibly close on Nyx’s crappy, single sized bed that not a breath separates them. The Glaive feels nearly half his current age and not even close to a quarter of the life experience he actually has when they get off together, still half-dressed, Nyx’s hands sticky with come and red bruises sucked in the hollow of Noctis’ collarbones. Trying to get out of that predicament proves itself to be tricky, legs bound by pants pushed to only mid-thigh and messy blankets, hands careful to not touch anything they don’t want to scrub clean later on, and they both laugh at themselves, at this situation, and Nyx really wouldn’t mind laughing like that every day for the rest of his life.

Which – _oh._

Oh, he’s so fucked, he realizes in the middle of his shoddy bathroom, hands over the sink and jeans awkwardly dropping to his ankles.

When he comes back out, slightly more composed but no less impacted by his most recent thought, he’s actually surprised to see Noctis right where he left him, except significantly less dressed and more comfortable, lounging back on the bed with no shame or inhibitions whatsoever.

"Can you hurry up? I’m freezing,” Noctis complains, despite the fact that he makes absolutely no move to cover himself up with the sheets that are _right there._ Nyx would gladly point it out, but then again, the idea of just sliding in next to him seems a much better one, so he ignores the thought and throws the towel on the back of the chair on his way over.

"Thought you need to go back,” he says, the unspoken question hanging in the air as they rearrange themselves on the cot that has definitely not been made to accommodate two grown men. The springs creak a bit under their combined weight and eventually, Nyx lies down on his back, one shoulder squeezing against the wall and Noctis pressing into him, half on top of his body. He latches onto him like his only lifeline, eager for any and all warmth he can get—Nyx can’t blame him for it, he’s not used to the constant chill of these bare walls like he is—and then tilts his head up to look at the Glaive, blue eyes inquiring and full of frank curiosity.

"Do you want me to go?”

It feels like a test, somehow. Like there’s more to this question than it appears, like he’s about to give more than a simple answer. And like he’s the one to give, again – opening up and making an offering that goes out and into the void, lost somewhere between his mouth and Noctis’ heart.

"No,” he says simply, relaxing into the pillow beneath his head. The answer must have satisfied the Prince, as he settles back down, cheek pressed into his bare shoulder and one foot sliding down his calf until it settles somewhere between his ankles.

It takes only a few moments of stillness and silence, before there’s a gently prodding finger at his neck, short nail scratching lightly along the length of the delicate tattoo.

"How many more times will you have me ask about the meaning behind these before you give me some answers?” The question is a quiet one, spoken out softly in the small space between them, almost as if it’s a secret. Which, if you look at it from the perspective of their respective positions, it kind of is – but right now, it’s mostly because there’s no need to be loud, or quick, or desperate. In this moment, they have all the time and peace they want.

Nyx laughs lightly in response, tilting his head obediently when Noctis’ fingers get to the point where the two lines meet. He shudders ever so lightly as he inches closer and closer to his ear, knowing the attention will soon be shifted to the one at the edge of his lobe. It always happens more or less in the same pattern, Noctis tracing and exploring the lines and dots and shapes one by one, whether it’s with his fingers or mouth, like he believes he can eventually physically kiss or rub their meaning out of them. It started as something they both found simply arousing and slowly moved into a sort of a tradition, Noctis fixating on these particular spots and trying to figure them out, while Nyx enjoys the attention and amusement that the Prince’s attempts and growing frustration from failure bring him.

And it’s not that he has any particular _reason_ to not tell him all about the Galahdian tattoo traditions and the meaning behind all the ink on his body. But as silly as it may sound, and something he’ll never admit out loud, it somehow feels as if, once Noctis’ curiosity is sated and the mystery no longer here, he’ll lose interest and move onto the next enigmatically appealing thing.

"Seriously, you’re insufferable,” Noctis murmurs, pinching Nyx’s right upper lobe between two fingers and pulling until Nyx lets out a growl. "I tried looking through some history books on Galahd, but there’s no mention of anything related to ritual tattoos. Have you been a part of some cult, or some shit like that?”

"You went through history books for this?” Nyx asks, quirking an eyebrow down at him in both surprise and interest. It’s one thing to be curious and keep asking, make an ongoing practical joke out of it, but a whole another to pursue it through research. That takes actual effort, and time, neither of which someone like the Prince of the entire Lucis has too much to spare, Nyx imagines.

It shakes something up inside him, some light that spreads throughout and burns in his throat.

"Give me some credit, would you? I know I’m not the absolute best of students out there, but I do know my way around the library,” he huffs, sounding actually offended, hand letting go of Nyx entirely.

"No, it’s just—I didn’t realize that you wanted to know about it this much,” Nyx admits, catching Noctis’ finger between his and pulling on it until it’s back on his skin, pressed into the tiny black shape at his cheekbone. It persuades Noctis to yield in, palm pressing to the scratchy cheek and rubbing the smallest of circles with the soft pad of his finger against the tattooed spot.

"These tattoos, they’re a part of you, your history,” Noctis says after a few moments, so close to him Nyx can _feel_ the words against his skin. "Of course I want to know about them.”

Briefly, Nyx wonders if he’s ever heard anything even remotely intimate to this from any of the people he had a chance to hook up with, and very quickly realizes that, no, not likely. Then again, he’s never met anyone quite like Noctis, either.

When he pulls him in for another kiss, suddenly feeling the pressing need to make the most out of whatever time they have left here, it’s heavier and more intense than before, his tongue pressing the unspoken words that are barely forming inside of his head into Noctis’ mouth.

*

"I think I’m going to do something stupid,” he announces two days later, his own fingers rubbing against the particular spot on his neck absent-mindedly. It’s entirely instinctive, reaching for it and letting the memories related to it come forth in his mind.

There’s a pair of small but surprisingly strong hands coming down to slam on the table then, pulling him out of his thought all at once.

"Oh, _finally_! Just please, hurry up.”

Nyx can’t decide whether he’s blessed or cursed to have friends who so readily and eagerly encourage his recklessness.

*

[05:20PM] you up for being the rebellious prince tonight again?

[05:21PM] always

[05:24PM] meet me on trinity way by the bar at 9pm. wear something unprincely

[05:25PM] so, nothing?

[05:26PM] that will come later

When Nyx leaves his apartment that evening and steps out on the streets, it’s pleasantly chilly but not yet cold, the perfect leather jacket over a t-shirt kind of weather. He moves across the streets of the refugee district like he owns them, confident and comfortable, because that’s what has grown to become his second home – not quite what he used to have back in Galahd, but still _his,_ no matter how poor or small.

He’s not sure what he expects to see once he rounds the corner of Trinity Way and a street insignificant enough that nobody even cared to name it, but the boy who awaits him there tugs on all the right heartstrings in Nyx’s old, battered chest. His hair is flat and floppy in how it lacks the usual product and styling, moving gently with his every movement, and the clothes he wears, although very reminiscent of his everyday all-black attire, feel much more casual and comfortable, all soft fabrics and bunched up materials of outfit just half a size too big.

It takes all of Nyx’s willpower to not pull him in the back alley behind the bar, kiss him senseless and get to experience some of that softness and comfort Noctis seems to have brought with him today.

"Ready?” He asks casually the second he steps close to him, not wanting to give himself any chance to act upon his silly desires.

The blues of Noctis’ eyes look at him from behind the curtain of black hair with a hint of surprise, only settling into relaxed familiarity half a second later. "Where are you kidnapping me to?”

"Can we really consider this kidnapping if you’re going willingly?”

"Shall I start screaming?”

Nyx glances to the side, catching the amused curl of his lips. "Please, don’t. I’d rather not be forced to look for yet another place to live, again.”

He’s almost sure he hears something along the lines of _yeah, me neither,_ but he doesn’t prod, knowing better. Instead, he guides Noctis silently in the direction of their destination, opting for a walk rather than a ride, as it’s barely three blocks away and apparently not even far enough for Noctis to get actually impatient, as he often does.

When they stop in front of a rundown building—like most of them in this area—Nyx points to the door that are three steep steps down the street level. "That’s us.”

"I want you to know that now it feels like kidnapping even more than before,” the Prince says, eyeing the steel door beneath them rather skeptically.

Nyx laughs at that, because in all honesty, he’d probably be apprehensive about going down there too if he was in Noctis’ shoes. "Come on, Your Highness. I promise you’re gonna like it.”

There are even more steps behind the door, illuminated by diffused red light coming from somewhere further inside. The atmosphere is a bit ominous and Nyx can imagine Noctis being slightly worried and a whole lot excited, if he knows him at all. It’s the kind of feeling this place invokes in people, especially people of Insomnia, not used to extravagancies like Galahdian tattoo parlors.

As they reach the bottom of the stairs and Noctis has a moment to take in the sight and vibe of the spacious, dungeon-like room, illuminated by multi-colored lights and filled with an insane amount of various trinkets and alternative art pieces, he spins around on his heels, the question on his lips—

"No way!” Comes a sudden exclamation from somewhere behind Noctis’ shoulder, cutting him off even before he utters the first syllable. "Our hero, finally coming back to see me? How long has it been?”

The female that appears in the room is really small, her lean body peppered with countless tiny tattoos, seemingly random – but somehow carrying an air of importance around them. She’s all smiles and welcoming aura, pulling Nyx in a hug like an old friend, which he returns readily, always feeling like there’s a bit of home waiting for him in between these frail arms.

"Too long,” he says, an honest smile to his lips. "I hope you don’t mind I brought a friend this time around.”

"Come on, you know me—not at all. Insomnian?” She looks back to Noctis, giving him a careful once-over, and both Nyx and Noctis have to know that she _knows,_ but is considerate enough to act like she doesn’t. Not for the first time, Nyx is grateful for her easy-going, smart personality that allows her to read the situation perfectly every time.

"Name’s Idrine. An old pal from back in the days in Galahd,” extending her lithe hand to Noctis, Nyx watches the Prince hold and squeeze it, so careful and gentle that he’s almost jealous of the touch they share.

"And our greatest tattoo artist,” Nyx adds, finding indescribable amounts of joy and satisfaction in the sudden glint of Noctis’ eyes once that fact is laid out on the table. "You may think that needles going into your skin repeatedly will hurt, but our Idrine here makes it actually a pleasant affair. Both mentally and physically.”

"Oh, shut up. The boy will think I offer sexual favors to go along with the tattoos.”

"Is that why the place is so empty?” Nyx asks, and that earns him an immediate kick to the shin, which—okay, he deserved that.

"Alright, smartass. Hop on the chair, you know the drill—be back with you in a few,” Idrine disappears behind the colorful, beaded curtain that makes a tinkling, slowly fading sound, and Nyx drops onto a black leather, reclining chair. Shrugging off his jacket, it’s easily followed by t-shirt being pulled over his head, leaving him bare and chilly – and under a very intense stare of these hypnotizing, blue eyes.

"Sit down, it’ll take a few moments,” he says, ever so amused with how affected Noctis seems to be by all this. The Prince obeys, taking his spot on a double sofa placed funnily in the very middle of the room. "Told you that you’re gonna like it.”

"Who says I do?”

"I can see it. Your face isn’t as impassive as you’d like it to be, my Prince.”

Noctis rolls his eyes a bit, clearly displeased with the fact, and leans back in his seat, looking around. He’s very obviously fascinated by the place, not quite sure where to look, all he bits and bobs spread around the walls and counters mostly native to Galahd and probably something he’s never seen before. The place is a bit like a museum and while to Noctis it’s an exotic kind of journey, to Nyx it’s all way too sentimental than he’s willing to admit.

"Alright, boys. What are we doing today?” Idrine asks once she steps back in the room, a silver platter with tools and the tiniest of bottles in one hand. She sits on the rolling stool and pulls herself close to one of the counters, snapping on gloves, preparing the needles and opening ink bottles.

"Chest,” Nyx says, and if his heartbeat feels like it increased in strength all of a sudden—well, maybe it’s true. "Triangle outline.”

Noctis can’t possibly know the meaning behind Idrine suddenly looking up from her work, a single needle balanced on a finger as she gives Nyx a careful, examining look. Her green eyes seem to reach inside his head and pull everything she wants to know out of it, and it’s disconcerting – even more so when that same gaze then shifts to Noctis, way too perceptively for Nyx’s liking.

"I see,” she nods then, going back to finishing the prep work and seemingly letting it all go. Nyx is grateful for it, although he does feel the lingering tension, not quite sure whether it’s his own, Idrine’s or Noctis’. Perhaps it’s just a mixture of three.

He lets out the smallest of hisses when the needle pierces the skin for the first time, more from surprise rather than pain. Idrine chuckles at that, clearly having way too much fun with the situation, as she says, "Are you gonna cry? Maybe we should ask your friend over here to hold your hand through it?”

Nyx doesn’t respond, feeling above it, even as she continues to laugh quietly over his body. The needle goes in and out, in and out, and with every next dot of ink, Nyx feels like some invisible weight is being lifted off his shoulders. It’s cathartic, something he should’ve realized way sooner, acted upon the instinct just how he does on the battlefield, rather than stubbornly resist it.

"You were right, thinking all Galahdian tattoos have meaning,” Nyx says eventually, soft and careful enough to not move and make Idrine’s work any harder. "You haven’t found much about it in books because the interpretation is individual and the shapes are a variable of many cultural and historical aspects of the islands that non-residents couldn’t even begin to getting a grasp of. We get them whenever we deem something, or someone, important enough to etch it into our skin.”

Noctis is eerily quiet, which is exactly why Nyx is sure he’s listening and more than engaged in what he’s hearing.

"The oldest one of mine is your favorite—the neck. The long line is me, the shorter – was done when Selena was born,” he continues, and is rather proud of himself when the memory of his sister does not manage to waver his voice anymore. "The band around my calf? Got it here, after our first Glaive mission and my first injury. It was the right leg and felt somehow important enough to honor and remember it.”

Idrine takes a moment to dip the needle back in the ink and Nyx uses the opportunity to shift a bit, head turning to look at Noctis.

"The tear-like smudge under my eye is my mother,” and he’s sure that, even if he can stop the grief from morphing his voice into something wet and wobbly when he speaks of his family, he’ll never be able to sift through the sadness it invokes. "The ones on my hands are for the weaponry they mastered.”

And Nyx can see it, clear as a day, how much Noctis wants to ask what the newest one means. He’s itching with it, the leg that still bears the remnants of injury from years back bouncing just the tiniest bit, barely containing himself. It’s endearing, somehow. That he wants to know _this_ much.

When Idrine is done, the tiny shape of an empty triangle is permanently inked in the skin of his left pectoral, somewhere in the middle of the line between the armpit and areola. It’s small, delicate and secretive, and Noctis only gets to take a peek before it disappears under the soft cotton fabric being pulled over it. He still doesn’t ask on their way back to Nyx’s place, the two of them walking in silence similar to the one before, although more loaded, more intense, like there are some unspoken things between them that fight for their way to come out.

It’s only when Nyx unlocks the door, lets Nocts in and the whole world gets shut out behind their backs, that the Prince looks at him and his resolve melts.

"Show me,” he says, except he doesn’t wait for Nyx to actually show him on his own; he pulls on his clothes, gentle yet insistent, and Nyx lets him because—he’s weak like that. Because he’d let him do anything, probably, and it’s about time to finally admit it.

When his chest is bare again, Noctis reaches out for him, touching the reddened area around the newest tattoo but careful to not make direct contact, knowing to treat it as a wound that it is. He’s so gentle that Nyx doesn’t think he’s ever experienced anything like this before: not when his mother dresses his childhood bruises, not when his newborn sister reached out for him for the first time, not when he was intimate with his first girlfriend. It’s a whole another thing, another experience, another feeling, and it pushes him to reach out too, hands framing Noctis’ face, lips seeking his to convey what he’s afraid the words will never fully be able to express.

"Tell me,” Noctis then says, _demands,_ words pressed into his mouth like a seal, a royal decree that obligates him to follow its resolution.

"We tattoo the shape of triangle to commemorate romantic love,” Nyx admits, and it’s such a relief to let it out, the joy and worry alike flowing in waves out of him. When he looks at Noctis, he can see these waves reaching him, meeting him halfway and mendingin with similar feelings that escape his own heart. "Two vertices reaching out to meet one another in the middle and create whole. It’s a simple analogy, but it’s been with us for generations.”

"Why is it empty?” He asks, the ever so perceptive Prince, gaze shifting between the tiny shape and Nyx’s face.

"We only fill it out when the love is lost. Only then it’s considered as complete.”

"That’s really fucking gruesome,” Noctis comments, a displeased grimace contorting his features.

"Yeah. It kinda is,” he admits, having always believed that the fact that people deem something as a whole only when it’s already gone is way too sad for the world they live in.

When Noctis kisses him though, the sadness melts in his fierce warmth nearly instantly.

"You better never get it done then.”


End file.
